Blood Stained Roses
by Ariaprincess
Summary: Arthur is getting really tired of his lover's "antics". It's time for him to take action. Rated T for not-so-pretty topics, cover art not mine, part three in a series but can be read as a stand-alone story.


**Part Three in a series! Check out the other two if you haven't already, Red Slashed Smile and Ti Amo Moltissimo.**

There were many scents that Arthur recognized.

Earl grey. Smoke and ash. Vanilla shampoo. Musk. Crushed lavender.

And now, a new one he was beginning to recognize.

The scent of blood, freshly spilled.

These thoughts rushed through his head like wildfire as he gently pressed his lips to his lover's forehead.

" _Angleterre,_ please, let me go. I don't know what I did to deserve this, but I beg you-"

"Silence." Arthur pressed one forefinger to the passionate lips that he was so familiar with. "I don't want you talking. Not now. Not while I'm in my element." "What element?" The man choked out, fear and betrayal clearing way for scorn.

"Here!" Arthur let out a guttural laugh and threw his arms out, indicating the dimply lit room they were standing in. "Of course, here. What were you thinking?" He slunk over to his captive, tipping his chin upwards. "Why won't you look at me anymore, froggy? You used to gaze at me like I was yours and yours alone." More laughter. "You're trembling." Francis tried to avoid his gaze, crystal blue eyes casting downwards, teeth gritted. "I don't want to look at a maniac."

"A maniac? Is that how you see me?" Arthur scraped his fingernails down Francis's cheek softly, causing the frenchman to whimper. "I'm not insane, Francis." Arthur cooed, the smile he wore proving him otherwise. "I'm only meting out a punishment due long ago."

With a sudden gesture, Francis kicked his lover in the shin with all his strength, causing the man to fall back and swear. He bit his knuckles to prevent from screaming at him, driving teeth marks into the soft skin of his hand. "A bit eager to get started, aren't we?" He snarled, clutching his shin tenderly. He stood up and brushed himself off, staring at the frenchman with hatred in his eyes. His attention drifted to the table that lay behind his captive. Francis strained at his bonds as Arthur moved out of his sight, wanting to catch a glimpse of what the brit might be planning.

"You know, Francis, I think I saw a split end or two when I got close..." Arthur cooed from behind.

" _M-mon dieu_.." Francis went pale at what Arthur might be suggesting. "Yes, I really do think I saw one...or two...or five." Francis felt Arthur grasp a lock of his hair, bringing it to his lips.

"Mmmm..." Arthur murmured under his breath. "Aphrodisiacs. Vanilla and musk shampoo, Francis, have you no shame? Can you not rely on your body anymore to attract others for your _pleasures?_ " Arthur hissed the last word, dropping the limp blonde strand. "Don't worry, frog, by the time I'm done with you, you won't need to bother with those silly scents anymore."

"Arthur, please-"

" _Don't even bother begging."_ Arthur growled, making his way back to the front. "There is no stopping me for what I'm going to do. You _earned_ this, Francis, _earned_ it."

Francis whined as Arthur scraped an unknown object down his cheek, leaving a small cut that oozed a small red smear. He nearly had a breakdown right then and there when he realized that object was a straight razor.

"No, Arthur, no! Not that, anything but that! You can cut me up, _mon dieu,_ but not that!" Francis wailed, but Arthur took no notice as he fingered another lock of Francis's hair.

"Have you ever heard the legend of Sweeney Todd, Francey-pants? That came from my country, you know." Francis had indeed heard of this story, and that's why he was trembling so much.

" _Oui.."_ Francis agreed shakily, hoping to stall him as long as possible.

"Then I guess you know what happens to his...customers?" Arthur chuckled, moving the straight razor between his fingers, caressing it.

" _Oui."_ Francis whispered.

"What happens? I'm _dying_ to know." Arthur cupped his ear mockingly. Francis winced at his choice of words, before muttering, "They die. He slits their throats."

"Quite right." Arthur held the razor to Francis's adam's apple, smiling evilly.

"I don't have any intention on killing you, my friend," Arthur murmured. Before Francis knew it, Arthur had slashed one of his flaxen locks, watching it drift slowly to the floor.

"But I think I'll have my share of fun with you."

Francis let out a little cry when he saw the limp strand on the floor. A fat tear slid out if his eye and fell on the chair he was sitting it with a splash.

"Don't cry, froggy. Crocodile tears make crocodile wrinkles." Arthur cooed, severing another strand.

"Besides, nobody has ever died of a bad haircut." Arthur's mocking laughter echoed and bounced around the chamber, ringing in Francis's ears and reverberating inside his skull.

There was nothing Francis could do but sit there, feeling snippets rain down on his shoulders and tears running down his cheeks.

"Tell me again, Francis, who was that other girl?"

Slash.

"Michelle, was it?"

Snip.

"She was very pretty, I'll give you that."

Slash.

"You truly have good taste."

Snip.

"Was I not good enough for you?"

Slash.

"Did I not satisfy your needs?"

Snip.

Francis managed to choke out, "Michelle was just a friend."

"A friend you slept with?"

 _Schick._

Francis felt something land in his lap. He gently looked down to see several snippets of his once glorious hair. He gulped, trying not to continue crying.

"You were my everything." Francis said quietly.

"No." Arthur set his blade back on the table, solemn. If Francis could've seen him, he would have seen that he was crying as well. But the tears dried up fast, and Arthur finally continued.

" _She_ was your everything. I was your sex toy."

Several seconds passed before Arthur picked up the razor again.

"Hm. Pity. I would have wanted to do a bit more work on you before we came to this topic." Francis was afraid to discover what 'a bit more' meant.

"Look at yourself, my frog, see what you've become." Arthur slowly lowered a hand mirror before Francis's curious eyes.

This can't be me. Francis thought. No, this simply can't.

The man in the mirror had disheveled hair that stuck up at weird angles, bald patches dotting one side, the other hacked to pieces. His face was bruised, and he clearly had tear tracks lining his cheeks. He looked tired and weary.

"Aren't you simply lovely?" Arthur said mockingly, tipping Francis's chin up again and tilting it from side to side, inspecting his handiwork. "Not bad, not bad at all."

"You've had your fun. Now let me go." Francis spat, twisting his head to wiggle out of Arthur's grip.

"No, no, I don't think so." Arthur stepped forward and stroked the flat of his blade along Francis's cheek.

"I can't have you getting out and telling anyone, can I? No, you'll have to stay here with me." Arthur twisted the razor so the sharp edge cut into Francis's flesh again, marring it even further.

"We'll have such fun, you and I."


End file.
